Returning Home

Yan had only been caught in an illusion and drained some mental energy, so he recovered swiftly. He made it down the mountain just in time to join Cisheng and Cui Yuan for their wedding.

Most of the disciples and many instructors from the Sub-Institute "Micro" had also made the trip. Even the Old Dean returned specifically to bless the marriage of this senior disciple from the Sub-Institute.

No one chose to use magic to travel directly. Instead, led by the Old Dean with several instructors clearing the way, they trekked over hills and mountains to return.

Cisheng stood at the very center of the crowd. Some of the more enthusiastic ones had already begun offering blessings and gifts, even cracking open jars of wine.

Several junior disciples who were close to him took on the role of porters at the rear, carrying the dowry and betrothal gifts. They were also in charge of the sedan chair, the wine, and everything else.

This journey was both a blessing and a unique form of trial. The Old Dean ordered that no one was to use even a shred of cultivation, traversing the mountain path as ordinary mortals would.

Using a teleportation array or a flying artifact would take only a few hours to travel from the Sub-Institute to the village; one could go even faster if truly pressed. But to truly measure the distance with ordinary steps would take nearly a month.

For those usually immersed in cultivation, holed up in their caves all day, this was an excellent opportunity to temper their minds and hearts.

At first, a few stubborn fellows refused to be outdone, vying to run ahead. Jiguang was especially keen, carrying the heaviest load yet rushing ahead of several instructors. For a while, all you could see was the blurry silhouette of his burden.

Yan also wanted to pick up the pace and move ahead, but Lian Fulan kept him on a tight leash, not allowing him to walk any faster.

"Little Junior Brother, do you need your senior sister to carry some things for you?" Ever since Yan had returned, Mu Han would occasionally offer unsolicited kindness. It was obvious she wanted another chance to spar and explore the Dao with the one within his Immortal Seed, to benefit herself. After all, there was no reason not to use such a useful fool.

Jian Yiru, who constantly clashed with her, would also come over to interrupt, leaving Yan so embarrassed each time he wished he could find a crack to crawl into.

By the latter half of the journey, those earlier stubborn ones were gradually tiring. Although they still pushed on, they had clearly slowed down considerably. After all, one's latent potential isn't unleashed simply by being more determined; it must be drawn out step by step (except, of course, in extreme circumstances).

Only Jiguang, normally the most competitive, persisted at the front, though even he could no longer keep up with the pace set by the Old Dean and the others.

The further they went, the more they had to rely on sheer will to persevere. Cisheng and Cui Yuan ran back and forth from the front to the rear, encouraging everyone to keep going.

Yan benefited from having grown up in the mountains and forests since childhood. Though weary, he didn't fall behind and even found moments to lend Lian Fulan a hand.

As for the two young women, Jian and Han, whenever they met they had endless energy to bicker, showing no signs of fatigue from front to back.

The physical fitness of the "Micro" disciples was still quite good. Moreover, this was their senior disciple's wedding; none were willing to fall too far behind, so the procession remained relatively orderly.

Finally, only one mountain peak remained. Yet, they hadn't seen anyone from the village coming to greet them along the way. Cisheng had informed his family about the wedding long ago. But thinking it over, they hadn't encountered any villagers for the entire journey.

Cisheng quickened his steps to rush ahead. Those with sharper senses had already restored their cultivation, adjusting their bodies to peak condition.

The Mountain Lord sniffed the air, sensing something was wrong. He helped Yan with his things and urged him to take a shortcut and run quickly down the mountain to check.

After informing Senior Brother E Ye, Yan leaped straight onto the treetops and sprinted toward the village.

His heart beat faster and faster, its *thump, thump, thump* sounding like thunder in his ears. His palms sweated uncontrollably, and the pace of his feet quickened even more.

Still far from the village, Yan could vaguely make out many figures outside. Red carpets ran through the settlement, every home had lanterns hung from high supports, and doors were plastered with "福" (blessing) characters. A few embroidered balls awaited the formal wedding ceremony; there were likely ribbons beneath them. Just imagining it brought the lively scene to mind!

Yan unconsciously slowed his pace, nearly ready to turn back.

Just then, a gust of wind blew, and grit got into Yan's eyes, leaving him frozen in place.

It was eerily quiet around him—only the rustling of leaves and the wind. Yan couldn't hear anything else. His five senses seemed completely sealed off, yet he felt a chaotic noise and immense exhaustion. He wanted to sit and rest, but his legs felt numb, unable to move an inch.

His body felt light, as if a breeze could lift him into the sky to bathe in sunlight and feel the caress of the wind.

His legs moved on their own, as if tugged by someone, or perhaps he was walking himself. It didn't matter anymore!

The village was no longer in sight, but his heart remained stuck in that moment. In a daze, he thought he heard his mother calling his name... but that didn't matter either!

Perhaps he had just stepped on that red carpet, perhaps he had avoided it. It wasn't soft; it was hard, and damp. It felt awful underfoot, sharp and piercing. A sharp pain drilled into his heart, twisting and gnawing through his entire being.

He probably looked a pitiful sight—but only outsiders could see that. What did it have to do with him? Let them laugh if they wanted! Not that anyone would laugh at him anyway—or so Yan thought.

Warmth bloomed before him, and a gentle voice reached his ears. He couldn't make out the words or even tell if it was a man or a woman. Perhaps the Boss had come for him. How he wished in his heart to follow that voice and leave!

He didn't know which two words triggered it, but his eyes gradually turned a deep crimson. His body moved on its own. He didn't know who he was following or where he was going, but it was likely for a fight. He and the Boss often did this; with the Boss gone now, following someone else was no different.

Darkness suddenly descended. A sliver of fear stirred deep within him, but was swiftly crushed.

Something coming? Then fight! He swung his fists on pure instinct. Getting hurt? It didn't matter! Just fight!

Calm? Utterly impossible.

As he fought, a sudden strangeness struck him. The feel was surreal—like water, but colder. How could water be shaped like a person? An icy dread instantly washed over him. A voice echoed inexplicably in his mind—"This is a ghost!"

Cold sweat drenched him, bringing a sliver of clarity. He looked around in terror, only to find himself surrounded by a cluster of translucent figures. A peculiar, soul-piercing sound reverberated in his skull.

Darkness, eerie sounds, translucent bodies, impossible to strike, impossible to kill! They surged like a tide, screaming at him—"These are ghosts!!!"

Suddenly, the brutal image of his mother's death flashed in his mind—her eyes wide with shock, unwillingness, regret... Blood! All blood! Red! Crimson everywhere!

An involuntary scream tore from his throat, a raw roar of pure terror.

He lost all sensation of his surroundings again, submerged in a sea of crimson, feeling his feet give way as he was buried in scarlet.

Sinking. Sighs, shrieks, roars. So tired, so deafeningly loud!

He didn't want to open his eyes again, just wanted to remain sealed here in silence, living in a dream.

"Junior Brother!" That voice—it was Senior Sister Jian. She had always treated him decently. Though often aloof, she never carried that air of lofty superiority.

"Life will always have its rough patches! Regret and parting are the norm. Dwelling in the past can be beautiful, but it also grows emptier, lonelier. Look ahead, walk forward—perhaps you'll find a better view!" The voice was so gentle. Though not directed at anyone, it seemed to perfectly soothe the pain in his heart.

"Perhaps one day, Senior Sister will leave too. Other fellow disciples might as well! The teachers, the old Dean, they all could! But always wallowing in the sorrow of parting... it hurts so much!" Yes, it hurts. They haven't left, but someone more important is gone, taking the memories with them.

"Little Junior Brother, what's done cannot be changed. No one can change it; the past is fixed! But we can learn from it, we can change the future! When people are gone, their will lives on. Those left behind must carry their will, carry the memories, and live on well!" It was meant to console him, but he was just so tired, too exhausted to move. He wanted so badly to find "Uncle", to yearn for what once was!

"When mother passed, my aunt once told me, 'The departed have gone; the living must strive unceasingly!'" The words pierced the fog, striking straight to his soul. They were so familiar, as if he'd heard them long ago.

Finally, he reluctantly opened his eyes. By now, Jian Yiru had been dragged before Yan. Her entire body was covered in cracked dragon scales—she had been forcibly reverted from her draconic form.

"Lit...tle Junior Brother!" Jian Yiru had been nearly unconscious. Seeing Yan open his eyes, she mustered a shred of strength, a wave of relief washing over her.

"It's... it's okay!" She was extremely weak, yet still used a gentle tone to comfort Yan. "My clansmen... they're gone too. I couldn't save them either..." She coughed up several mouthfuls of blood. "But I can save you, who's suffered just as tragically!"

The surrounding wraiths sensed the commotion.

Mindless, yet in unison, they began walking toward this spot.

"Kid, you've really done your senior sister in~!" a voice rang out from within the tide of souls.

Just then, the surrounding spirits reached Jian Yiru. Opening their mouths, they began tearing at her directly. Finding the dragon scales still too hard, they started plucking them off one by one, beginning from her head. Blood splattered onto Yan's face. He wanted to save his senior sister, only to realize he was bound by chains, utterly immobilized.

Jian Yiru didn't know what promise she had made earlier to stop them from harming Yan. But now, she didn't resist. As her scales were peeled away, she only let out continuous muffled groans, never once screaming.

For an entire night, she endured this heart-piercing, bone-grinding agony. Fearing something, she forced herself to stay conscious.

At the first light of dawn, the wraiths scattered amidst shrieks. Jian Yiru, losing her support, collapsed into Yan's arms. Her entire body was already a bloody, mangled mess; only her face remained somewhat intact.

Seeing that they hadn't harmed Yan, Jian Yiru wanted to say something, but her lips only moved slowly, soundless. She gazed at Yan with reluctance, or perhaps at this world, offering a faint, serene smile before closing her eyes. The hand she had raised, intending to touch Yan's cheek, lost its strength and fell.

She had certainly approached Yan with an ulterior motive initially, but she had also wanted to exchange sincerity for sincerity. Later, it became sympathy—an empathy born only from sharing the same pain. Looking at Yan was like looking at her past self: powerless, grief-stricken. She wasn't saving Yan; she was saving her former self.

From beginning to end, Yan had never truly understood this senior sister. Even the time they spent together was minimal.

Jian Yiru—Deceased!

A roar of utter powerlessness and the sound of mocking laughter echoed through the mountains.